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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27117370">Fidus Achates: drabbles</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PakDefect/pseuds/Vinronoa'>Vinronoa (PakDefect)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Piece</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Drabble, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I wrote these at 5am, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Incomplete Stories, It’s only one chapter i swear, M/M, Minor Character Death, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, No Dialogue, Sanji Is Not A Vinsmoke, Strawhats mentioned briefly for like 2 seconds, Violence, actually I wrote these as I was falling asleep, also, and Zoro only uses noises to communicate I don’t make the rules, chopper is tiny, dadronoa, have mercy, idk what im doing, ill tag as i go - Freeform, im sorry, no beta we die like men, read with caution, sora vinsmoke - implied, to call myself a writer would be an insult</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 20:28:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,929</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27117370</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PakDefect/pseuds/Vinronoa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The marines fall in a heap of convulsing limbs and dying gasps before Sunny is ever within their reach, taken out from afar by a devil child that has danced with Gods on clouds and has had Satan whispering depravity into her soul since birth.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Roronoa Zoro &amp; Sanji, Roronoa Zoro &amp; Tony Tony Chopper, Roronoa Zoro/Sanji</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Robin.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I’m sorry for whatever you’re about to read. None of it is complete. I doubt it ever will be since I have the confidence of a 1in roadblock. I wrote one a day for a week straight at like 5am and then fell asleep, never to look or read over these again.<br/>anyway, ill take suggestions/prompts and im open to criticism. you can find me @ luckythree-san on tumblr. have mercy. I’ll post whatever drabbles I have each day, I guess. I actually like one of them so I might?? try to continue it. maybe. uh. enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She doesn’t always fight but when she does, it is no longer for herself. It amazes the woman how her crew mates can carry such heavy burdens, do so willingly, and still have so much love, compassion, and the strength to wake and live another day. It amazes her because she spent decades being told that the world would be better if she were dead, forgotten.</p><p>She does not stop to ruminate the memories of her childhood, of how they consisted of fleeing from the government. Of how at barely nine years old, she had felt what it was like to break bones beneath her tiny hands and what someone’s dying breath sounded like to her delicate ears. Robin does not think because there is no time. She must act, and protect, and kill when necessary. Severing one’s head from their spine had never been easier when thought of in terms of protecting.</p><p>They feel, rather than see, fingers clawing in their throats, rendering flesh from bone until entire arms are tearing through the skin at the nape of their neck. The marines fall in a heap of convulsing limbs and dying gasps before Sunny is ever within their reach, taken out from afar by a devil child that has danced with Gods on clouds and has had Satan whispering depravity into her soul since birth. </p><p>Robin inhales with a sort of tranquility that should not be present as her limbs sprout on the backs and chests of men and pull apart their jaws, unhinging bones until they creak and move unnaturally beneath her fingers. A shiver takes over her body once the skin gives way to the force of her pulling, allowing the assassin the space needed to replace arms with legs and stomp the appendages apart. More marines drop but do not convulse. Do not breathe. Their screams had long since been snuffed out in the wake of the devil’s advent. She looks at her work and frowns, unsatisfied.</p><p>It startles her- how she can look at these deformed figures whose jaws are no longer where they should be and seem to have imploded on itself, raw and unrecognizable as a human form- and be unhappy with the results. She closes her eyes, allowing the various sensory parts of her body to vanish once she no longer hears or sees a threat. Looking over the field that was once beautifully coloured by an assortment of flowers and towering fruit trees, giving and sustaining life, only to now be a makeshift graveyard for nameless men that have come for her nakama’s heads.</p><p>Her arms cross for what she hopes is the final time this day and begins to dig shallow graves, tossing the bodies within them. She may not be able to hide the scent of death from their precious doctor or the residual bloodlust from their swordsman, but she can give them a ‘welcome back,’ and the rare smile reserved just for them. The bodies are buried while the stains of bodily liquids are overturned and returned to the earth to give and sustain life once more. Time passes as Robin sits with a cup of now cold tea and hums pleasantly at the approaching forms of the Strawhats. They’re loud and bickering and laughing and safe and hers.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Roronoa.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I read five pages on Francois L'Olonnais (the pirate Zoro got his name from), fell asleep, and woke up with this thing. Anyway, pirates were pretty cool, lowkey.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>im sorry. please read with caution and make sure to read the tags as they apply to this chapter. I didn’t make it too graphic but I’d rather you guys be safe.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They take turns with the whore- or was she some mistaken innocent?- bombarding her body with punishing blows that snaps bones beneath the pressure. The laughs are taunting, sickened by the woman’s inability to keep them from disfiguring her once beautiful face. Her jaw clicks in and out of place through its current round of abuse, throat raw from screaming for what has to be hours now, and tears no longer pour from her swollen eyes. The fight left her long ago and she is- thankfully, although there is no god merciful enough to save her- too numb to the pain to fully comprehend how they tear apart her insides, leaving her to twitch and wallow in their infected cruelty.</p><p>She is broken, not unlike an antique doll whose face has been cracked apart with fingers torn from their sockets and whose limbs are twisted and no longer appear to have human shape. From afar, he thinks she is beautiful. Strong. Undeserving of this hell. And he damns his own weakness, shame, and inabilities.</p><p>Zoro watches as the pirates who have enslaved him, aged fourteen, decapitate the woman in pure bliss. Watches as her head, marred with deeply grotesque cuts and liquid infection bounces and rolls to an uneven stop before his feet. He can see how her jaw is unhinged and hangs far too loosely to be connected to or by anything; can see how the dark blue-purple bruises swell her eyes completely shut and how tear streaks stain her busted cheeks. The woman’s nose is bent horribly, nearly touching where her cheekbone should be, but ultimately isn’t. Her almost white blonde hair is matted with dirt, blood, and other liquids he can see and smell but do not wish to name as the glorious locks splay onto the reddened deck, only to be dyed by the blood that can no longer stay within what remains of her body. There is a distant splash in the back of his mind that’s quickly followed by the harsh bellows of laughter. </p><p>Zoro is fourteen when he sheds a tear for a woman he does not even know the name or untouched face of. He still thinks her beautiful. </p><p>At sixteen he kills the crew in their sleep save for the captain, whose feet he has nailed to the deck, and sinks the ship. He lacks the foresight of getting a spare boat from off the ship and swims to the nearest island.</p><p>He isn’t a religious man, not after being on that ship and seeing what these so called gods would allow, but he prays that the woman is no longer suffering. A lone Marigold sprouts where he has sat and prayed on multiple occasions. It’s beautiful with edges of yellow that has been mostly overtaken by deep reds at its center and serves as a reminder, he thinks. And while he doesn’t understand the language of flowers, he hurts for it.</p><p>By nineteen Zoro’s hatred for pirates has been translated into two things. The first is simply: Roronoa Zoro, pirate hunter. The second is a harsher reality that reaps fear into lesser men: Demon of the East Blue. He fights, kills or turns in bounties, but it doesn’t feel as rewarding. They don’t test his limits and bore him. Being angry eats away at him more than spineless cowards calling themselves pirates ever could, yet it amazes him. He was a pirate hunter, turning in bounties to the government in order to feed himself, but has found himself tied to a cross and left to die. He hangs his head with a cynical quirk of the lips and wonders if this was all he amounts to; if this was what Kuina has died for.</p><p>He is saved three days and seven hours later by some lanky kid in a strawhat that says he’s going to be the pirate king and Zoro has no choice but to laugh. Fate, he thinks, is an imaginary force that lesser men believe and take hope in. He almost does when met with the maelstrom that comes in the form of Luffy and some dirty, foot trodden rice ball.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chopper.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>no thoughts. head empty. just tiny chopper + Zoro interaction with like 8 spoken words.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i just want more dadronoa ok. please. he’s trying.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The presence beside his bed wakes him long before the rhythmic shuffling of anxious feet- or hooves, in this case- do. He waits in silence for Chopper to work up the nerve to finally follow through with whatever is on the boy’s mind. Expecting to meet with silence for the third night this week, Zoro sighs to himself and begins to drift off back to sleep when the gentle nudge to his arm stirs him into wakefulness once more.</p><p>Shifting to see the figure just barely tall enough to peer over the edge of Zoro’s bed, he grunts in lieu of an answer. Even in the dark, the reindeer’s fur looks worse for wear and matted with what he assumes to be sweat. Considering the whimpers he heard in his sleep, he isn’t surprised to see how exhaustion and lingering fear of the unknown seems to seep into Chopper’s little body and drain him. “Can I-,” The sheets crinkle under tiny hooves and Zoro can practically feel how much the other is shaking, although he’s half certain it’s merely the waves rocking Sunny. </p><p>“Can I sleep with you, Zoro?” </p><p>It’s barely above a whisper and if he wasn’t wide awake right now, he might’ve mistaken it for wind. He weighs his options: either Zoro can be an asshole and send this child to conquer his fears alone in the dark, or he can sleep his way through a little extra heat and fur in his clothes. It would be easier to let Chopper work things out himself; allow him to get by without the help or guidance of others. But he’s not Zoro and he didn’t have a Kuina or Koshiro to push him to be better. To thrive. </p><p>The man grunts instead of verbally answering and returns to his side, eyes closed as his listens to Chopper get into the bed with him. </p><p>Or, at least, attempt to.</p><p>The boy’s feet kick uselessly at the air as his small arms dig into the bed, trying and failing to get a leg onto some sort of useable purchase that he just can’t find. His hooves clack to the floor once he gives up simply heaving himself upwards and decides a different tactic- one that includes getting a decent head start and jumping onto it. </p><p>Which, surprisingly, also doesn’t work as he comes up short and bounces off the side of the mattress, landing on the floor with a soft thud. The swordsman drops his arm over the side and grunts, the damn caveman, while Chopper scrambles embarrassedly to his feet. It’s much easier to clamber onto the outstretched arm and cling to it as Zoro brings the limb to his chest with the boy’s head nestled safely beneath his chin. A sigh of relief escapes the doctor’s lips as he curls up into a ball of fur pressed against the expanse of Zoro’s chest. </p><p>He feels lighter- like there is nothing to fear when he is surrounded by a scent so familiar, so safe, that he can’t help but press his cold little blue nose closer. Oak, metal, an undertone of booze, and something so- Zoro, that Chopper can’t describe it even with his vast knowledge of terms. </p><p>The blanket comes up and nearly engulfs Chopper completely but instead of the crippling claustrophobic feeling of his nightmares, it feels like home. The steady heartbeat and deep rumble of Zoro’s chest lull him into a sleep so peaceful that he sheds a lone tear, smiling. He didn’t have a Kuina or Koshiro, but he does have Zoro and the Strawhats, and he thinks that’s just as good.</p><p>If the swordsman spends the next handful of minutes willing away nightmares and making sure sleep embraces Chopper as gently as it can before resting himself, he doesn’t mention it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Choke.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Uh. Thriller bark stuff.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>okay so ngl I was tired and hazy from the anesthetic and whatever else they used on me and I honestly have no idea how well this chapter is gonna read. Or what’s in it. The first like 2 paragraphs were nice,, But uh. no beta we die like men and I refuse to read what I write so you guys are getting unedited, raw writings 😎 im sorry. and i post on mobile so I’m at an automatic disadvantage LOL (please have mercy.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Love is not meant to be suffocating nor is it meant to feel like an incessant itch just below the surface of his skin, festering and spreading without a way to quell it. So then why, he wonders, does Sanji’s love rip the oxygen from his lungs and leave them as decaying bundles of cells, struggling for life? It wraps its tendrils around his throat and lungs, squeezing and taking the life from him. </p>
<p>Draining. </p>
<p>Love has never hurt so much before. He can recall, distantly, a simpler time with Sanji. A time where he can breathe. A time unlike now, where he feels the need to interact with the cook less and less, and he can see how it negatively affects them both. </p>
<p>It has so little to do with Sanji as a person- Zoro doesn’t hate the idea of being with him, no- but it doesn’t feel right. Like there’s something other than his own dreams governing his actions, influencing his behaviour. </p>
<p>He finds that all of these things mean nothing when the- vulgar, beautiful, raw- cook is seconds away from taking Zoro’s place at death’s door. It stirs uncomfortable, writhing feelings throughout his entire being and he’s putting Sanji down by his own hands before his brain registers what he is doing. The suffocating sensation constricts in his throat, winding around it in a vice-like grip that doesn’t release until he and Kuma can no longer see the blond halo Zoro breaks himself. </p>
<p>Chopper tells the crew that Zoro is sleeping in order to heal from his injuries, but has no idea how they got so extensive. In truth, Zoro meets with a god he does not believe in and challenges them in a battle that lasts roughly four days, wins, and is guided back to the waking world. It’s strange because the person walking with him is a gorgeous blonde with a flowing white gown and an eye so vibrantly blue and full of life that it makes his breath catch in his throat. </p>
<p>He thinks that she is what authors could spend their entire lives trying to properly articulate her beauty. A beat passes and he has to look away, damning the blond man for his dramatic romanticisms. </p>
<p>It’s strange because she seems so gentle and compassionate but her entire being reminds him fiercely of Sanji and-</p>
<p>Zoro feels drained again, itchy like static has replaced the blood flowing in his veins and has decided to take residency in his mind and heart. It isn’t awful- strange since it tingles down to his fingertips, but almost pleasant. He takes a right- the woman is still going straight but he doesn’t understand why since he clearly came from this direction- but suddenly she’s beside him again, his calloused hand in her much smaller one, and he stills. </p>
<p>She smiles and he swears that she must be a devil-fruit user from the serenity that overcomes him with their hands touch. He grunts with a quirked brow, easing his hand away to rest upon the swords at his hip, but waits for her to get him lost again. He isn’t in too much of a hurry, anyway. </p>
<p>Her movements are regal but the patience she displays is unlike most royalty the Strawhats have come across, save Vivi, making a flush of red stain his cheeks every time she laughs and redirects him. It sounds like bells. The woman’s laughter makes him look at her, arms crossed, and ask: “who are you, anyway?” Because everything she does reminds him of Sanji and it’s frustrating and makes his heart do stupid things like hurt and his mind fuzzes over with a distant worry and- it’s frustrating. </p>
<p>She stops before a lighted gateway and tilts her head to look at him, a smile still present as she shushes him with a delicate finger pressing to her lips. “Thank you,” she clasps her hands together, head hanging slightly as a tremor seems to wrack through her arms. Zoro doesn’t get to ask what for since she’s pushing him through- holy fuck, that petite woman moved him like it was nothing- and he’s falling back into unconsciousness before his conversation with the panicked blond is over. </p>
<p>He sleeps. He dreams. He thinks of her and how that choking feeling was a sense of calm he never allowed himself to have before. A sense of just being- of being loved and loving back without harsh expectations or realities. Zoro wakes to the sight of Sanji’s golden halo splayed over white bedsheets. They don’t talk about Thriller Bark and he doesn’t mention the woman to Sanji. </p>
<p>They fight and bicker like the married couple they will never be and get separated from their family. Zoro aches from his injuries and loss but fights anyway. Sanji doesn’t stop fighting from the moment he is lucid enough to stand. </p>
<p>They love and hurt and hate. They are both choking on the gardens of affection that is uncomfortable for them to properly express at the tender age of nineteen and they don’t get better at twenty-one. They don’t, and probably never will, but they continue to water and tend to the life they grow within one another, even when it means tending to the dead ones.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Dreams.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>idk bro i like flowers and sora ok</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I missed yesterday and I’m sorry about that. and chapter 4 was a fucking whirlwind so I’m sorry about that too. <br/>🧍 dental work hurts and I didn’t want to be awake through the pain. uhm. I should..,, maybe? be posting daily like I said I would. Comments/reviews/criticism/suggestions are always welcomed.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dream.</p>
<p>He dreams of flowers surrounding him by the acre, swaying gently in the breeze as petals tickle at his wrists. He knows it’s a dream because his mother is with him, sitting amongst the sunflowers that lean towards her warm, vibrant form. He knows it’s a dream because the cool metal of an earring that does not belong to him caresses his neck and makes him feel safe despite the fact that he can protect himself. He chooses not to wake because the reality is a stark contrast to what’s before him now and basking in his mother’s never ending love is much more compelling. </p>
<p>Sanji does not have conversations with the dead. It isn’t because they’re dead or he’s afraid of them- in truth, he has forgotten what the words sound like when they fall from his mother’s lips and spill onto the floor as nothing more than a cacophony of static. It has been over ten years since he has heard utterance of his name being crafted from his mother’s lips and gifted to his ears but he treasures it; wills himself to remember and never forget. But even the sound of her laugh is starting to fade.</p>
<p>He sits across from her and watches as the sunflowers gravitate towards them, two dazzling suns that carry the world on their shoulders. Sanji doesn’t pick the calla lilies, red carnations, or blue irises that bloom and clutter between them- he doesn’t want to be like the monster that he’s repressed; doesn’t want to kill the beautiful ones. A pale hand plucks fallen petals from the ground and brings them to delicate lips that presses a smile against them. </p>
<p>The blond hesitates to speak- always does when he has one of these dreams- because he enjoys just seeing his mother exist, even when he sometimes forgets how she moved when air entered her lungs. Sora’s hands ruffle his hair and breathing is all Sanji can do to keep himself from crying. It’s such a comforting gesture, one he has spent many years without, and he relishes in every second of contact. She smiles and it warms his heart as he feels himself being pulled down onto the inviting space of her lap. It’s familiar yet distant, like something he can distinctly remember but forgets when or how it happened. It’s pleasant all the same. </p>
<p>“I’ll wake up soon,” he says. ‘Will I see you again?’ He means. The hum he gets in return is staticky but no less melodious with a sense of overall melancholy that he knows is from him. For him. Sora gently brushes the fringe from his eye and smiles, poking him on the nose with a soft “boop!” And fuck it’s so childish but he grins and breathes out a laugh and he almost forgets that this is a dream. </p>
<p>“I wish you could’ve met them, mom,” Sanji’s smile wavers but doesn’t disappear, “you would’ve loved them.” She nods, stroking the top of his head as she listens, would sit there until her legs feel like nothing more than blocks if it means hearing him talk. “Especially Nami and Robin- ah, and Chopper, too.” He blinks, trying to remember where they left this one-sided conversation last time before he woke up. It’s hard to keep track when he has so many things and people to tell her about, but he’s doing his damnedest to relay it all with the time he has. </p>
<p>“I started letting Chopper help me in the kitchen since the crew’s nutritional needs concern him, too.” The cook scrunches his nose at the thought, no less fond of the reindeer, but sighs nonetheless. “He gets frustrated when he can’t do something properly the first time but he keeps trying until he gets it right, even if it takes him all day.” It makes Sanji think back to his time on the Orbit. How his little head barely looked over the counter and his hands were too clumsy to wield such sharp knives, ending with wasted food and bandages. </p>
<p>He spends what feels like minutes animatedly talking to Sora, gesticulating wildly at times as his limbs flail while he tells stories. It must be hours, though, because as he finishes telling her about the Foxy Pirates encounter, she’s hazy and fading out of existence. He’s used to it by now but it doesn’t hurt any less even when he knows it’s coming. “Sanji,” he hears and all the tears that have yet to fall threaten to as he makes eye contact with the almost translucent form. Sora cusps his cheeks in her barely there hands and kisses his forehead. “I love you.”</p>
<p>His eyes snap open but instead of the bright field he was just in, Sanji is met with the cold darkness of an ocean bound ship. He bites his lip and chokes back a sob, forcing himself out of the men’s cabin to get a head start on breakfast. </p>
<p>If he notices the worried, albeit exhausted, gazes of his barely awake crew mates, he wipes his eyes and says nothing.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Oops.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>idk they get hurt or something. i was gonna do something with knee replacements and nystagmus. if you don't know what that is, it's also called Dancing Eyes and it's the uncontrollable movement of the eyes. in this case, it would have been acquired from a head injury</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>okay so. 1. i was a fool to think i could upload everyday. it got below 50 degree this week so i just fuckin hibernated most of the time. i'll try to post another chapter after this 🧍. this chapter was gonna be 1200+ words but,, i started feeling bad about not posting and it was going downhill really fast. anyway, please come yell at me/give me suggestions. <a href="https://luckythree-san.tumblr.com/">Lucky.</a> i'd love to interact with you guys.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The battleground, once blanketed in the purity of white snow, now lays anointed with crimson red and inky black. A sickly sweet odor emanates from both the ground and the bodies that begin to pile up from the severity, the majority of them civilians that aren’t lucky enough to leave the premises. Their bones are fractured and ruptured by the throng of pirates that have hurtled into them, rendering them useless long before they have died. The scent of death, beautiful and alluring yet repulsive and ugly, fills their lungs, forces them to breathe it in for as long as they remain in the area, not allowing them to forget its existence. One particular pirate stands out, with their bulbous eyes that hold a festering hatred for the remaining few that can still fight, though with great difficulty.</p>
<p> Their movements have gotten slower, attacks coming nearer and nearer to them as exhaustion weighs heavily on their bodies- their minds. Among said pirates- the ones still remaining and fighting- stands Zoro, chest heaving and hair disheveled and matted with dirt and blood. By all means, the man should not be standing, not with his shoulder dislocated and palms beginning to peel from where the tsukamaki rubs at his skin. The muscles in his arms are starting to tear; he can feel them tense too much, questionably snap before there is just.. Nothing. What doesn’t hurt him now certainly will later, but the adrenaline coursing fervently through his veins keeps him from feeling brunt of it.</p>
<p>Which also means that, as simultaneously overloaded and dull as his senses are- he is aware of how many broken bones are currently shifting around in his body with every movement. Broken ribs threatening to puncture his lungs and put an end to his life are the least of his worries, though. The pirate just won’t fucking go down, and while Zoro normally thrives from a challenging fight, even he knows when enough is enough. Apparently “Akuma” didn’t get the same memo since they’re currently hurdling towards Zoro’s unmoving form and shit. Shit, shit, shit. Why the fuck won’t his body work?! </p>
<p>He doesn’t have the time nor capacity to move out of the way and the only thing he can do now is try to tense up and keep further injuries to a minimum. The impact resonates in his ears, his soul, but not within his body and he knows that only because he falls to his battered knees once the tension leaves a burning ache. </p>
<p>The last thing he registers is someone yelling at him to wake up when all he wants is to sleep, and he must say it out loud because all he gets back is overdramatic exasperation. </p>
<p>He wakes long enough to ask “did he win?” The person takes too long to answer because Zoro feels like he has waited several minutes before unconsciousness snakes its way throughout his body. In reality, the words were nothing more than a bloody utterance of nonsense from a dying man. </p>
<p>☀︎☁︎</p>
<p>Chopper is anxiously heaving out breaths as his little hooves make slow progress on everyone’s wounds, having spared himself the bare minimum. The only ones the reindeer doesn’t have to worry about are Franky and Brook (although he pesters them all the same because it’s his job, damn it, and these morons don’t make it any easier!) </p>
<p>He spends the next eighteen hours resetting bones, meticulously stitching (and restitching because even while unconscious, Zoro has to find a way to disobey him) and conversing with Franky about artificial skeletal structures because some bones just can’t be saved. He’s exhausted from tears he doesn’t shed and still doesn’t feel as though he can sleep when his patients- crew mates, friends, family- are just barely stabilizing. </p>
<p>“Chopper,” Robin’s voice comes from his left and he starts to feel bad because he has yet to properly tend to her injuries, even though they aren’t as serious as the Monster Trio’s. “Perhaps it would benefit you to rest, if only for a few hours.” It’s a completely reasonable request- logically, he knows that- but as the rhythmic beeps of machinery connected to a multitude of tubings and limbs rings in his ears—. “But what if something happens while I’m sleeping! I can’t just-!” The woman scoops him into her arms and holds Chopper to her chest, wary of their wounds but no less comforting. “I will sit here with you and watch over them until you awaken.” </p>
<p>The fight leaves the doctor’s little body as he hiccups, willing tears away so he doesn’t soil Robin’s clothing. She sits with him nestled into her side and exhales slowly. She couldn’t protect them, either, and it pains her to see them like this. </p>
<p>☀︎☁︎</p>
<p>On the third day Usopp takes over Kitchen duties so Nami can rest, even when she insists that she isn’t tired- the fifth grilled cheese sandwich is almost unsalvageable when she finally lets him take over. The sniper knows he has won when she doesn’t threaten to add interest to his already hopeless amount of debt. The kitchen is a disaster; he almost wants to cry on Sanji’s behalf because there are new stains that he isn’t sure will come out with the usual amount of spit and elbow grease so he does what any sane person would do and cleans it. </p>
<p>Luffy wakes on the fourth day as rambunctious as ever and storming into the kitchen to demand food. Stew and some bread isn’t what he’s used to- it doesn’t even have the amount of meat he wants- and he complains about it but it’s only halfhearted. He takes it back to the infirmary and slouches beside Sanji’s cot with a pout, shoving the loaf of bread into his mouth. “Sanji needs to wake up soon so he can cook for us. I want a feast with lots of meat and music and I don’t want anyone but Sanji cooking for me.” </p>
<p>The stew isn’t finished but gets left behind at the blond's bedside. Luffy covers his face with his hat, tense as he walks out of the door without being yelled at for not finishing his food. It doesn’t sit right in his stomach. He doesn’t like how quiet it is on the ship either since it seems like even Sunny isn’t riding the waves as it normally does. It creaks less. It’s wrong and even though he’s the captain, he can’t do anything about it but wait.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Lost.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>its v short. I posted it on tumblr first but started feeling bad that I haven’t posted here in awhile</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry I haven’t been posting anything. the last week has been- something else. (and im really sorry I didn’t get around to posting that costume party kms). i’ll try writing more. anyway, please come yell at me/give me suggestions. <a href="https://luckythree-san.tumblr.com/">Lucky.</a> stay safe.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oh, that’s what they mean.</p><p>It isn’t as sudden as people may believe. It’s a gradual build of things that pile up sporadically and the progress is so slow that it’s hard to see what it is becoming until it is finished. It isn’t waking up one day with the stars aligned and everything in the universe working in one’s favour. It’s the push and pull, the need to gravitate towards them, have their eyes on you and make them smile. It’s seeing them at their worst, beaten down and ugly, and understanding that they are only human and there is no beauty in the fight. </p><p>He knows, processes and understands it all, but cannot formulate into words how he wishes to express himself to this person. Doesn’t know how someone as unromantic as he is can ever utter words of beauty. Doesn’t know how he could ever speak about how, even when lost and wandering, he always finds him first. That if the world is to crumble beneath their feet and the sky is to fall around them, how his hands will undoubtedly find the other’s. </p><p>He knows this, too, because it is happening now and his hands- as scarred and calloused as they are- find slender fingers and hold them. </p><p>Even in the dark, unmoving and grounded by the hand between his own, Zoro feels like he finally knows where he is.</p>
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